


confronting

by spacebubble



Series: detours [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Communication Failure, Episode: s04e07 Starship Down, Fantasizing, First Meetings, Getting Together, Height Differences, Insecurity, Jealousy, Lap Sex, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Nonverbal Communication, Pre-Slash, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-09-07 12:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: Prior to the events of "Starship Down," Quark visits the Karemma homeworld. He's not prepared for the feelings Hanok's presence brings to mind, but he's eager to act upon them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oops yes it's another WIP but the next part's already halfway written. :3c
> 
> sequel/parallel to [retreating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19763701). but more of a sequel after pt 1, with more resolution coming up...

When Quark arrives on Karemma, everyone's so _tall_.

It's ridiculous. It reminds Quark of the camping trip he and Nog took with the Siskos, surrounded by trees.

Everywhere, Karemma. Tall and dark and weirdly monotonous-looking, with only slight variations in their long hairstyles and minimalist clothing. (Haven't these people ever heard of _color_?)

Quark walks through the arrivals gate at the airlock terminal, searching for Hanok's face in the crowd.

What if he couldn't recognize him? What if he already walked past him?

It's not like when he arrives back at Deep Space Nine, with Odo waiting to interrogate him as soon as they catch sight of each other.

Sure, Quark would rather be welcomed back as something other than a potential suspect at the end of a long journey, but Odo's welcomes are better than no welcome at all. The attention's kind of nice. And since Odo doesn't pretend to be something else when he actually wants to talk with Quark, he's always easy to spot, leaning stiffly against a wall or pylon or doorway somewhere.

Not like here, where everything and everyone is unfamiliar. Quark feels increasingly lost. Trying to find Hanok in the crowd is like looking for a specific tree in a forest full of similar-looking trees.

He readjusts the bag on his shoulders, then runs his fingers along the opening of his jacket, fingering the metal clasps and fabric textures to calm himself down.

Maybe it'd be easier for Hanok to find _him_ \- it's not like there were any other Ferengi around. And Quark's probably wearing enough color for the entire planet.

* * *

If he thought the other Karemma were tall, Hanok's even taller.

Tall enough to make Quark's mouth drop open. Definitely tall enough to give Maihar'du a run for his money.

Quark can already hear himself saying something stupid about Hanok's height. Luckily, he stops himself before he can say anything even stupider. The tree comparison is uncomfortably apt. Quark can't help wondering what it'd be like to climb Hanok's tall, tall body.

(Would Hanok be as strong as a Hupyrian?)

When Hanok offers to take his bag, as polite as the most well-trained Hupyrian servant, Quark can't help blushing.

* * *

He can barely keep up with Hanok's long legs as they walk through the transportation hub.

Karemman architecture is hideous - everything's far too spaced out, the corridors are much too long, and his heeled boots echo harshly on the smooth, weirdly hard floors. It's hard for him to hear anything above the defeaning sounds of his heels click-clacking along - Hanok mentions something about walkways, somewhere? - and he's busy trying to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder, and -

Quark suppresses a whimper when Hanok's palm rests between his shoulder blades and gently pushes him forward.

He can easily imagine that same hand, large and warm, shoving him face-first onto a bed.

(Of course, Hanok's hand wasn't even anywhere indecent. It wasn't like Hanok's hand had slid anywhere lower down his back, long fingers pressing into him through his clothes -)

As soon as they step onto the automated walkway, Hanok drops his hand.

Quark releases the tension in his shoulders - he hadn't expected to react so strongly to a mere touch.

He hears Hanok exhale a low, shaky breath.

It's followed up by another, similar exhale, and Quark realizes he's been holding his breath, too.

* * *

They're in a government-issued hovercraft, gliding along through the falling snow.

Quark watches the snow through the viewscreen panels with fascination.

On Karemma, the snow is a delicate pale blue. On Ferenginar, snow doesn't really exist.

He's never seen real snow before - not outside of a holosuite, anyway.

(For a moment, Quark fondly reminisces on the wintry romances Morn had prompted him to order, after the Cardassians withdrew from the station. The Cardassians never liked holonovels set in colder climates. Quark had to hand it to the Federation - a more diverse customer base was great for his holosuite rental profits.)

Would the Karemma be interested in the holosuites?

Quark's face lights up at the thought of a new market for the holonovel industry - after a standard distributor markup, of course. Who knew - maybe underneath all those modest and monochromatic clothes, he was surrounded by a planet of hedonists.

It wouldn't hurt to ask.

He looks back at Hanok and accidentally makes eye contact.

A smile begins to tug at his lips.

But before Quark can react, Hanok blinks rapidly like a startled animal, then immediately looks away.

Quark raises a browridge at that. He takes back the smile he was about to give, then looks away as well, returning to the view outside the hovercraft.

Maybe Hanok wasn't much of an eye contact guy.

* * *

Or maybe he was.

Hanok keeps _looking_ at him during their negotiations meetings.

Which wouldn't be so notable if Hanok didn't keep acting so guilty about it.

Quark's not used to being looked at like that. Like Hanok's drinking him in with his eyes, but allowing himself only the briefest of sips. Stealing forbidden glances whenever he can. Looking away just a fraction too slow - like he's afraid of being caught, but he can't help lingering.

(Unlike Odo, who stares at him openly, making sure Quark knows he's watching him. No covert glances. Nothing to hide.)

It's flattering. Quark wants to encourage it.

He bites his lip briefly, glancing up at Hanok through his lowered eyelids, like he's thinking very hard about Karemma fiscal summaries, and maybe also how hard other Karemma things might be, but Hanok isn't looking at him at that moment.

Of course.

So Quark waits until there's a moment where he can speak, and he uses Seductive Register #3, lowering his voice to a lusty rasp.

"Your throat sounds odd," Hanok interjects. "Would you like a glass of water?"

Quark's shoulders sag a bit. He switches back to his normal voice. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

But now Hanok is looking at him again, so he bats his eyes at him.

"Are you sure?" Hanok's voice is gently concerned. "Perhaps the dehumidification doesn't agree with your eyes. I could replicate some eye drops for you, or perhaps a hypospray of -"

Quark sighs. He shakes his head and smiles. "Don't worry about it."

Hanok gives him an odd look for a moment. "If you say so. Now, back to the previous decade's economic numbers..."

Weird.

He wonders how the Karemma flirt. If they're more fond of surface hostility, like the Cardassians thriving on acerbic exchanges. From what Quark can tell, the Karemma aren't like the Klingons - shows of physical force haven't been anything he's observed as significant in their culture, everyone's too decorous for that.

It might not even matter. Maybe Hanok's not like the other Karemma. He might be uniquely oblivious for his kind.

(Like a certain Changeling security officer back on the station.)

As Hanok resumes his summarizing, Quark leans his chin heavily onto his palm to read the padd along with him, deflated.

* * *

The worst of it is that Hanok's almost as shrewd and sharp as a stellar Ferengi businessman. Quark finds himself growing attracted to the minister's mind, the perceptive way Hanok can articulate economic insight and explain concepts back to him with an elegant concision.

Unlike a stellar Ferengi businessman, however, Hanok is strangely... gullible.

For whatever reason, Hanok politely accepts everything Quark tells him about Federation business practices - any percentage, any fee. Hanok occasionally rumbles in surprise at certain percentages, and Quark braces himself to explain away the high amounts, but Hanok never turns the rumbles into interrogations.

(Unlike Odo, who would always find something to question - even if that something was actually perfectly honest.)

Quark almost feels bad about all the lying, but it's hard to feel much guilt when he's too busy feeling aroused.

The longer he stays in Hanok's company, the more he wants to climb Hanok like a tree.

He could use a cold shower.

They're supposed to leave for dinner soon. Maybe taking a walk in the snow might help.

* * *

It's fucking freezing outside.

"I'm freezing," Quark whines. He's wearing five layers and it's _still_ not enough. As he walks, his long coattails drag along the pale blue snow underfoot, and he can't remember if the fabric Garak used can hold up to such conditions. Probably not.

"You wouldn't be freezing if you replicated a coat back at the office," Hanok admonishes. He's wearing a very boring-looking wool overcoat with a tall collar wrapped neatly underneath his chin. "We have plenty of functional templates you could have customized to fit you."

"But they're all so _plain,_" Quark protests. "You can barely even see the embroidery on yours." He lightly strokes the outside of Hanok's sleeve, near the forearm, where the embroidery's slightly more visible. "The designs aren't bad, but they'd look even better with brighter threads."

Hanok coughs. His arm goes stiff for a moment, then relaxes. Quark drops his hand.

"I... am sorry our fashions aren't to your liking, Quark, but in the snow, function matters more than aesthetic."

"Does it have to?" Quark instinctively walks closer to Hanok, currently the nearest source of heat. "Can't it also -"

Hanok's elbow almost slams into his nose.

"Hey!" Quark protests, dodging just in time. "You almost hit me!"

Suddenly Hanok's coat drapes around his shoulders like a blanket.

It's warm, almost hot from the remnants of Hanok's body heat. The wool is thick and robust. It's treated with something that makes the snow slide right off.

"Warmer now?" Hanok murmurs, arms wrapping around Quark from behind to reach up and fasten the collar around Quark's neck. It almost feels like a caress.

"Ye-yeah," Quark replies, heat rushing to his face.

Hanok grunts in an eerily familiar way, then drops his hands back to his side and continues walking.

Quark blinks, then clutches the front of the coat around him and rushes to catch up.

"Don't you need this?" Quark asks, short of breath from trotting to keep up with Hanok's pace.

Hanok glances down at him. His cheeks look ruddy, though maybe that's just because of the sudden chill from no longer having his coat in the snow.

Their eyes meet. Hanok looks away. He also slows down enough for Quark to comfortably match his pace.

"I'll be fine. You can return it at our next meeting," Hanok replies, eyes darting down briefly. "I'll add an item to the agenda about replicating an appropriately-sized coat for you."

Quark beams. "Okay."

He holds the coat tightly around him as they walk.

(Odo's never this nice. Not that he ever wore anything to lend Quark in the first place, but even if he did - even if the station's temperature controls suddenly malfunctioned, or they got marooned on a freezing planet somewhere - Quark doubts Odo would let him borrow anything for the cold, much less give him the coat off his back.

Lend.

Quark's face grows warm. He corrects himself.

_Lend._

Hanok's not_ giving_ him the coat. Giving him the coat would be...

Well, it'd be a different thing altogether in Ferengi business culture, giving clothes to someone.)

* * *

Karemman wine tastes awful.

The food's not bad, though. Decent insectivore cuisine. More than decent, really. Delicious grubs, marinated just right.

He listens to the way Hanok swallows after he eats, the way his breathing changes after watching Quark suck down a particularly... _large_ grub.

(He actually hadn't meant to swallow that grub whole, but it shot down his throat faster than he anticipated.)

Quark wonders what other Karemman things might taste like.

* * *

It's weird, how wine works.

Quark's maybe a little too tipsy to set down his bag before matching his fingers to the lock's biometric sensors, but really it was the door's fault for being so finicky, when good ol' Ferengi locks relied on numbers and combinations and precise patterns that didn't depend on -

He swallows a gulp when Hanok takes hold of his hand.

Everything passes by in a blissful blur. He has absolutely no idea what Hanok's doing right that he was doing wrong, and he'll probably have to ask Hanok about it for next time. All Quark can think about now is how large and cool Hanok's fingers feel around his hand, how they push and guide him and hold him still, how much he'd like to feel those fingers elsewhere on his body, pushing and guiding and -

The doors swish open.

Quark grabs his bag strap to readjust it, somehow manages to walk through the doors and turn around at the same time.

Hanok looks good.

He looks tall and authoritative and good.

He also doesn't look like he's about to walk inside.

Quark tries to turn it around. Make it a flirty moment.

Had Quark been completely sober, he might have recalled that flirting didn't work hours earlier, but that was before the wine at dinner, and -

* * *

The doors to his hotel room slide closed on Hanok's retreating form before Quark can even finish reacting.

"Wait!" Quark calls out, stupidly, right as the doors shut on his face.

His bag slips off his shoulder and falls onto the floor. He doesn't bother picking it up.

Quark stares at the shut doors in shock.

Did Hanok really -

But he thought -

The coat, and the guiding, and the staring at dinner -

Didn't that mean anything?

Quark steps forward and the doors obligingly open back up.

"Hanok!" he calls out, already turning his head to look both ways down the corridor. He can't see a thing.

He listens for footsteps and hears none.

Hanok's probably already in the turbolift with those stupidly long legs of his. Maybe even out of the hotel altogether.

Quark's used to rejection, but this stings.

* * *

He can't sleep.

Quark stares at the ceiling in the dark, replaying the day in his head, scrutinizing the moments just before the door shut on his face.

He was direct, wasn't he?

Maybe he was _too_ direct?

Frustrated, Quark lifts one hand up to his throbbing lobes, then slides down the zipper of his pajamas enough to slip his other hand between his legs.

He exhales a shaky breath and continues replaying the day in his head. The way Hanok loomed over him whenever they stood next to each other. The warmth of Hanok's hand on his back. How large and assured Hanok's fingers felt around his hand, holding him still.

(The eerie way Hanok's nonverbal sounds reminded him of Odo.)

Quark slides two fingers inside himself. He whimpers, lifting up his hips, imagining Hanok's long fingers fucking him deeply. Riding Hanok's hand with desperate abandon, legs spread wide around Hanok's torso. Hanok holding him close, one arm wrapped around his naked back, the other arm moving steadily underneath him, fingers thrusting at a furious pace -

Suddenly Quark gasps out his climax, arching his back and clenching hard around his own fingers. He trembles through wave after orgasmic wave - at least three, more powerful than usual. His blood pounds in his lobes and his lower muscles, and he's damp all over with sweat, and he's leaking come down his wrist and his thighs.

Luckily, he still has his pajamas on, partially unzipped as they are. And there's an in-room sonic laundry receptacle on the opposite wall.

(An idle thought drifts through Quark's post-coital mind - Hanok, coming back to his hotel room, doors opening onto Quark's exhausted state. Hanok staring at his exposed skin and parted thighs, unable to resist stalking over and stripping Quark completely, then sliding inside his slick entrance -)

Quark cries out, bucking on his fingers with a violent downward thrust of the hips.

He pulses wetly around his knuckles for another series of trembling orgasmic aftershocks, then slips out of himself with a faint whimper.

As much as he'd love to fall asleep right then and there, the fluids on his thighs and stomach are starting to cool off in the night air, leaving him cold and feeling even more alone than he did before.

Sighing, Quark drags himself out of bed and pads towards the laundry receptacle, and tries to think about how nice a sonic shower would feel, how clean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting Quark a bit through the insecurity wringer here, but it won't be for nothing. ;)

Quark wakes up the next day feeling horny, a little sad, and not entirely sure of his surroundings.

A typical morning.

He stares at the unfamiliar ceiling above him, trying to place the pale off-white greys and the shiny smoothness.

Around him, the covers are plush and warm. He lifts up his head to get a better look at the duvet and woolen blankets tangled up in his limbs - pale blue, pale grey, everything neutral and plain, yet oddly expensive-seeming.

Oh, right.

He's in a hotel in the capital city of Karemma, and he has a meeting with Hanok first thing in the morning.

"Computer, what time is it?"

_The time is 0700 hours._

Quark turns his head to look at the source of the voice, startled.

From the nightstand, a holoscreen hovers into view, floating transparently some distance above the table's surface, text as pale as his hotel room's minimalist surroundings. On the screen, Quark can see the time neatly displayed in the corner, above several other panels of information elegantly arranged underneath: latest headlines (meaningless), weather (cold), and a new message notification from Hanok.

He throws off the covers and scoots over to stare at the floating screen.

The message notification gently glows before him.

Quark reaches out and lightly taps on it, bringing up the message's subject:

_Today's Itinerary._

Quark purses his lips into a pout. He expected - well, he had hoped - it'd be something more... personal.

He skims the list of items: breakfast (separately), meeting 1 (together), meeting 2 (also together), replicate a coat, lunch -

Quark pauses and rereads the fourth item:

_Replicate Quark an appropriately-sized coat._

He suddenly remembers the warm woolen coat Hanok loaned him yesterday, the hands sliding around his shoulders, the fingers fastening the collar around his neck, almost like a caress.

Quark's face grows warm.

He tosses off the covers and hisses to himself at the sudden chill, then pads over to the closet.

Hanok's coat hangs neatly on the open door.

Quark reaches out to touch the intricate embroidered designs on the coat. He runs his fingers along the raised threads and their spirals. The black embroidery's barely a shade lighter than the rest of the coat - not terribly visually stunning - but something about the texture makes Quark want to keep touching it.

He strokes the embroidery, then lifts the sleeve up to his nose and inhales, wondering if he might smell something that reminds him of Hanok.

Weird. He can't smell anything.

Literally, _anything._

Quark raises his browridges.

Anti-odor treatment?

Were the Karemma sensitive to smells?

Or just Hanok?

Quark brings the sleeve up to his nose for another sniff, wondering if he just imagined it, but then the computer reminds him he has to get ready for breakfast, and he drops the sleeve to go rifle through his outfits, wondering what to wear for the day.

* * *

He smooths out his clothing as he looks at himself in the mirror.

He's wearing a rainbow of tiny patterned squares on his shirt, underneath an even more colorful jacket in a patchwork pattern Garak described as "stained glass" - some human term Quark didn't bother looking up.

His outfit is bold. Intense.

And most importantly - colorful.

Fresh start.

It's a new day and a fresh start.

Hanok didn't want to stay last night, fine. He would do things differently today. Flirt better. Be more direct. Less ambiguous.

And maybe Hanok would finally realize Quark wanted to ride him until they were both exhausted.

And maybe Hanok would actually want the same thing.

Quark grins at himself in the mirror.

Hopefully.

* * *

Quark eats breakfast alone at a nearby cafe, wondering if Hanok's doing the same.

At home, perhaps? Somewhere simple (Quark corrects himself - the word is _minimalist_), somewhere not here.

(Somewhere, with someone?)

He didn't even think about that before. Why didn't he?

Quark sets down his spoon.

Suddenly his breakfast isn't very appetizing anymore.

* * *

He's not jealous.

Just like he's not jealous of a certain Major in a certain Constable's affections.

* * *

Quark walks into the meeting trying not to feel miserable about what might be an entirely imaginary rival. He clutches Hanok's coat in his hands, fingering the thick, rich wool.

Hanok looks up from where he's sitting at the conference table. Even sitting down, he's so tall that he can look Quark in the eyes.

"Good morning, Quark," Hanok says in a deep rumble. "Sleep well?"

Suddenly Quark gets distracted by thoughts of waking up to Hanok saying the same thing to him in bed, rolling over to look at him, covers slipping off his bare shoulder - no, why would Hanok's shoulder be bare? It's not like Quark wanted to see it, or anything else underneath Hanok's boring clothes.

"Uh," he says, then snaps out of it. "Yes! Yes, I did." Quark blinks, blushing. He walks over and holds out the coat. "Here." He remembers himself. "Thanks for, um." Hanok just keeps looking at him and Quark suddenly feels nervous about the immediacy of that look, Hanok's eyes drinking him in, maybe wondering what's underneath his clothes.

And he shoves the coat into Hanok's arms.

"Ah." Hanok looks down in surprise, hands automatically unfolding and refolding the coat into a neat rectangle. "You remembered."

"Of course I did." Quark laughs, nervously. "Did you expect me to forget it?" _On purpose? As an excuse to invite you back to my room? _

_Fuck, maybe I should've 'forgotten' it on purpose. _

"No," Hanok says mildly, sounding very agreeable and oddly indulgent, the sonic equivalent of a tiny smile.

Suddenly Quark's paranoid that Hanok can hear his thoughts like a Betazoid - maybe Hanok wanted him to have forgotten it, maybe he should invite him back to his hotel room after all?

Much to Quark's aggravation, instead of saying anything further, Hanok twists around to drape the folded coat on the back of his chair.

Quark hesitates for a second, then sits down in the chair next to him.

He bites his lip as he looks up at Hanok's turned back, the length of Hanok's upper half, towering at least a head above him, almost two. Odo wasn't this tall. Quark never had to tilt his head this far back to look up at the back of Odo's head.

The end of Hanok's neatly coiffed hair is twisted into a bun at the nape of his neck, silken and dark. Quark fights the urge to reach up and unravel it so he can run his fingers through the smooth-looking strands.

He inhales sharply when Hanok turns back around.

"Ah." Hanok smiles - surprised at his sudden proximity? Pleased to see Quark sitting so close? "Well." He turns back to the padd on the table and picks it up. "Shall we begin our meeting?"

Quark nods.

* * *

He can't figure out Hanok's game.

They're sitting next to each other at the conference table, Hanok leaning down ever so slightly to speak with him, almost looming in his attention.

Their arms almost touch. Almost. Hanok politely stops just short of brushing their arms together, and Quark can't figure out if it's an invitation for him to close that final tiny gap between them, or if he should just stay put.

So he stays put, on edge from the nearness of their arms and sides, tempted to cross his legs the other direction and brush his foot against Hanok's shin. And then maybe Hanok would pull him onto his lap, running one of those large hands up his legs, and -

"Quark?"

Quark looks up at him, resisting the urge to bat his eyes and prompt another question about how his eyes were handling the Karemman air.

"Yes?" Quark purrs.

Hanok nods at the padd. "What does this percentage mean?"

Quark glances back down at the column Hanok's indicating. "Oh. Purity per milliliter bonus," he explains, slipping back into his customary business tone. "Liquid latinum's worth more than solid latinum because it's not diluted by the presence of other metals, so this is the standard multiplier we use."

"I see." Hanok returns his attention to the padd. "We - as in, the Federation?"

"Um, yes." Quark blinks. Hanok's mouth is closer to his ear than before - he must have leaned closer to the padd to read it. "Yep."

"Ah." Hanok's voice sounds deeper than before, too.

Quark licks his lips, briefly.

Hanok doesn't notice.

Of course he doesn't.

* * *

Despite himself, Quark can't help getting interested in the actual purpose of their meetings.

He still embellishes, of course. Polishes the numbers a bit, overstates the estimates for certain figures, creatively describes others.

(If Hanok had been more... Ferengi-like, Quark might have suspected Hanok of deliberately trying to distract him, all those almost-touches, near-brushes, lowered voices...)

He almost forgets the passage of time until the padd they've been reading beeps with a polite noise.

They both pause to look at the notification.

Hanok smiles. "Time to replicate your coat."

* * *

They stand in front of a complicated-looking replicator panel, as pristine and pale as the rest of the Karemman architecture surrounding them. Hanok's fingers easily fly through the customization menu as Quark offers his input, a swift touch here, a simple gesture there.

They look at the preview screen together.

"Are you _sure_ I can't make the colors brighter?" Quark asks.

The prototype displayed in the preview screen is in a deep, dark burgundy. Barely indistinguishable from a typical Terran wine. But at least it wasn't monochrome.

"Sorry, Quark. That's about as colorful as the replicator can go." Hanok eyes him up and down, quickly. "I'm afraid we don't quite have the technology to match your... typical attire."

Quark sighs. "That's fine." He had been hoping Hanok was figuratively undressing him with his eyes, but maybe that was too optimistic. Maybe he's been too optimistic about the day. Maybe he should just ask Hanok -

A faint shimmering sound interrupts his thoughts - the replicator at work.

Soon enough, the coat materializes in front of them.

Quark reaches for it, but Hanok plucks it out of the replicator tray first.

"Huh?"

Hanok holds the coat out, politely reminding Quark of a tall personal servant once more. "Here. I'll help you into it."

Quark can't help blushing at that. "Okay."

He turns around, grateful that Hanok can't see the blush darkening his face, and slips his arms into the sleeves, letting Hanok slide the rest of it onto his shoulders.

He can feel Hanok's large hands smooth the coat out, tracing the way the structured panels skim his figure. He inhales at the sensation of of Hanok's fingers trailing over his shoulders, then lightly traveling down his back...

...stopping short with a friendly pat to the space in between his shoulder blades.

Quark turns around to look up at Hanok. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Hanok replies.

They both smile at each other for a moment.

Before Quark can say anything further, another polite notification rings in the air.

"Time for lunch," Hanok says cheerfully. "I'll go fetch my coat."

* * *

It's a nice coat.

Quark thinks about how nice it is as they step out into the snow, the two of them in their dark, warm coats.

It's a very nice coat that Hanok just gave him.

Even though Quark was the one customizing everything, and Hanok was merely relaying the details into the replicator.

All for free.

Quark's charged more for less. And all he does is poke a few commands into the replicator before mixing ingredients together.

Hanok didn't charge him any of this, and it feels like a gift, like a very expensive gift despite the utter lack of currency involved, and it feels... strange.

Strange, but nice.

* * *

He thinks about Hanok drawing him aside into a secluded corner of the restaurant, no, dragging him by the lapels of his colorful coat and trapping him against the corner, fencing him in with those long arms, then leaning down and -

"Do you want to try something new?"

Quark blinks. "Wha?"

"On the menu." Hanok holds it out to him from across the table. The menu is a slim translucent padd of sorts, almost as thin as a slip of latinum, with various items listed in a row.

"Oh." Quark takes the menu from him, once again feeling disoriented. "Sure."

They're sitting in a private booth. It's a typical spot for business meals, Hanok had informed him. Each booth had noise-modulation technology to prevent the restaurant's overall atmosphere from getting too loud - couldn't make deals if you couldn't hear the other person's terms, after all. Very respectful. Modern. Classy. The seats are comfortably firm, the lighting's warm and inviting, and Quark wants so badly to make out with Hanok that nothing on the menu looks appetizing.

Maybe he could just say it?

Why not?

It's not like the other patrons of the restaurant could hear him get rejected.

"Hanok." Quark sets down the menu padd slowly and deliberately, making sure he makes eye contact. Hanok looks back at him with curiosity. "I want - "

"Sirs!"

An authentication needle screeching against the lowest grade bars of metal-mixed latinum couldn't be more upsetting.

Quark whips his head around to glare at the waiter who's suddenly manifested next to their table.

"May I take your order?" asks the waiter, small note padd at the ready.

"Yes," Hanok replies, "I believe we're ready." He looks back at Quark. "Quark, you were about to say what you wanted?"

For a brief, wild moment, Quark considers retorting with a simple _you_. He thinks about Hanok rushing around the table to kiss him senseless against the booth, leaning him back against the plump, firm cushioned seat as he whimpers in surrender.

"Quark?"

Blinking, Quark stares back down at the menu. He picks the first thing he sees.

"The ice eels," he says, flashing a winning grin up at the waiter. "Extra brine, thanks."

"One of my favorites," the waiter comments with approval.

Quark basks in the minor validation. "Is it, now?"

The waiter nods with a smile, then turns back to Hanok. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the same," Hanok replies. He sounds very polite. "Ice eels are one of _my_ favorite dishes as well." He glances over at Quark for a moment, then looks back at the waiter with a neutral expression. "No extra brine, thank you."

Quark raises a browridge. Was that the unmistakable sound of _jealousy_ he heard? Perhaps even a touch of territorial irritation?

"Excellent," replies the waiter, who dutifully taps the order entries into his padd. "Most excellent. The two of you have impeccable taste."

The waiter leaves.

Quark grins.

Non-Ferengi wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary. They wouldn't have thought twice about Hanok's intonation, because they couldn't hear the shift in microtones when Hanok addressed the waiter.

But Quark could.

Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Quark leans forward onto his elbows.

"As I was saying," he begins, eager to leverage the hint of tension he had sensed before the waiter left, "I want -"

"Hanok!" a strange voice calls out, followed shortly after by the sound of footsteps walking towards them, no-nonsense bootheels tapping a steady, leisurely rhythm on the floor.

They both turn to look.

Yet another tall Karemma comes to a stop next to Quark. He's dressed in yet another monochromatic outfit - black, faded into a somewhat dull shade of dark grey. Streaks of lighter grey swirl into the plait of braided hair twisted into a bun at the nape of his neck. His expression has a degree of smugness that Quark's unaccustomed to seeing on a Karemma, but it's strangely familiar. He can't quite place it.

"Fancy seeing you here," the newcomer says to Hanok, resting his hand on the back of Quark's seat. When Quark looks up at him, curious, the newcomer glances down at him with a cordial, _pardon the interruption_ smile, and a twinkle in his eyes that's strangely captivating.

A blush creeps up the back of his neck. Quark immediately looks away, back at Hanok.

Hanok smiles politely up at the newcomer. "Rion."

(Friendly voice. Noticeably so. Just friendly enough for Quark to realize Hanok doesn't like this other Karemma much at all.)

"Lunch date?" Rion asks, almost leering. (Quark recognizes the tone immediately. He's very familiar with catching almost-leers.)

Hanok barely unclenches his teeth to reply, tersely: "Business lunch."

"Ah, my mistake." Rion doesn't sound remotely repentant.

Before whatever polite hostility between the two can go any further, Quark looks up at him and asks, "Rian, is it?"

He heard the name clearly the first time, but he can't resist a good opportunity to annoy someone who's clearly on Hanok's bad side. (Especially when he's trying to get on Hanok's good side.)

"Ri_on_," the other Karemma corrects, not missing a beat.

(Civil as the reply is, the stressed syllable conveyed an annoyance that makes Quark smile.)

"Apologies for not introducing myself earlier," Rion continues. "I'm another minister of the exchequer - Hanok and I work in the same department." He leans down solicitously. "And you...?"

Quark grins. He suspects the other minister already knows who he is, but whatever. "The name's Quark. I'm the negotiator from the Alpha Quadrant."

"Ah, the Alpha Quadrant negotiator! How _delightful_." The reply is positively dripping in insincere civility. Not unlike a typical Ferengi businessman's standard small talk tones.

Finally, a Karemma he can understand.

"My mistake," Quark tells him, affecting just enough apologetic self-deprecation to put Rion at ease. He gestures vaguely at his lobes, as if exasperated at his own outlandish body. "It's these offworlder ears of mine - I'm not used to hearing Karemman names."

"Completely understandable," Rion replies. He pauses to give Quark's lobes a once-over, which feels simultaneously flattering and... oddly disconcerting all at once. "Though with ears like those, I'm surprised you'd ever mishear anything."

From a Ferengi, that would have been a painfully obvious pick-up line, but it catches Quark off-guard nevertheless. He can't stop the blush heating up his cheeks, so he laughs out of nervousness and adrenaline. "New languages always take some adjusting to get used to."

"I can only imagine." Rion glances briefly below his eyes, and Quark's sure he's watching him blush. "Hanok has more experience in that regard, I must admit."

There's something unsaid in what Rion's saying. Quark leans even closer, genuinely interested. "What do you mean?"

(Across the table, Quark can hear Hanok breathing through his nose. Nothing through the mouth - his lips must be tightly pressed. He sounds annoyed with the direction the conversation's taking. The annoyance only fuels Quark's curiosity.)

Rion leans closer as well.

"He must not have told you," Rion says, voice low, confidential. A secret shared just between the two of them, barely loud enough for Hanok to overhear. "How modest of him!" Rion laughs insincerely, darting a smirk across the booth before returning his gaze to Quark's inquisitive eyes. "Hanok, here, is our resident expert at _interplanetary relations_." Rion's voice drops even lower. "But he's always had a taste for the exotic."

As a mortified exhale sounds from across the table, Quark perks up, mind swimming with the potential.

"Oh?" he says, beaming.

There weren't any other Ferengi around. He's the only Ferengi on the entire planet. The only visitor from the entire Alpha Quadrant.

He's _exotic_. He's someone Hanok might have a _taste_ for.

Rion nods, still smiling, like they're sharing a joke just between the two of them. "His ability to wine and dine foreign dignitaries is _unparalleled_ on Karemma. I keep trying to convince him to transfer to a department that can make better use of his talents, and yet he remains, impressing our superiors with his... _enthusiasm_." Rion makes an amused, though condescending sort of sniff. "You're in good hands, Quark."

All complimentary words, yet somehow they only serve to increase the annoyed breathing from across the table.

Hearing Hanok's mood grow worse by the second gives Quark an idea.

(It's not that he _wants_ to make Hanok's mood worse, of course - he just wants to provoke him a little.)

Quark leans on one elbow heavily, twisting his body around to get a better look at Rion. Only Rion, looming over him, can see Quark arch his back and push himself back up against the booth's cushions, coattails falling along the outsides of his thighs.

He catches Rion's gaze flicking downwards, distracted by the movement.

(Sure, it's a little sluttish of him, but Quark's had enough of non-sluttish subtlety going nowhere.)

"And what about _your_ hands?" Quark asks Rion, voice going husky, corners of his mouth turning up in a lazy, flirty grin. Might as well fish somewhere he could actually get a bite.

(Hanok inhales so sharply that Quark wouldn't be surprised if the entire restaurant heard him - sound-dampening technology be damned.)

Rion's plastered smile relaxes into a lazy, flirty grin of his own. "Why don't we get dinner this evening and you can find out?"

"He can't," Hanok interjects. "Sorry, Rion." (Hanok doesn't sound sorry at all. But he does sound icily polite.) "I neglected to update the itinerary for today. Quark's having dinner with me tonight."

"Is he, now?" Rion's eyes flash with bemusement. He straightens his posture and looks ever so obviously down his nose at Hanok. "In all the years we've worked together, I've never known you to neglect a thing."

A hopeful feeling begins spreading through Quark's chest as he looks back at Hanok.

(He's pretty sure it's hope, and not just arousal. Though it could also be both.)

"Yes, well." Hanok smiles, completely unrepentant, barely suppressing the amused microtones warming his voice. "I was distracted by the prospect of meeting our planet's first visitor from the Alpha Quadrant."

Rion exhales derisively through his nostrils. "Clearly."

"You're going to lose your spot at the counter, by the way." Hanok nods his head towards the appropriate side of the room. "There's only so much room for lone diners in this establishment, after all."

Rion moves his head begrudgingly, like someone suspecting a prank, then does a double-take.

There's only a few seats left at the counter. As they all watch, someone sits down in one of the open seats, then sets down their bag onto the barstool next to them - taking up another spot.

Rion frowns. "Yes, I see." The frown flashes into an overly cordial smile as he glances back at the booth. "Thank you for your vigilance, Hanok." Then he turns back to Quark, smile relaxing into smug self-assurance, and Quark is _sure_ he's being eyefucked this time. "Should you find yourself in need of another dining companion, Quark, _do_ feel free to call upon me." He steps away from the booth without looking back at Hanok. "I hope you two have a lovely lunch."

And he leaves.

And Quark realizes who Rion reminds him of:

_Brunt._

Quark wrinkles his nose, then looks back at Hanok.

Who is _definitely_ eyefucking him from across the table.

* * *

In a flash, Quark imagines Hanok dragging him into a luxurious bathroom stall for a quick, urgent fuck - being pulled onto Hanok's lap, clothes shoved aside, Hanok's heels braced against the floor, Quark's hands braced on Hanok's shoulders, Hanok's hips slamming up into him, forcing anguished whimpers out of him with every thrust -

* * *

"Quark, I must apologize."

"What?" Quark asks, still distracted by visions of Hanok fucking him in the bathroom.

Hanok sounds oddly embarrassed. "I shouldn't have lied earlier."

"Oh." Quark knits his browridges together, mystified. "About what?"

"Dinner." Hanok looks at a point slightly above his eyes, face perfectly composed - but his voice betrays more than a hint of contrition. "You might have wanted -" He laughs, cutting himself off. "Of course you would. Everyone likes Rion."

"Do they?" Quark wonders if it would be rude to mention how much Rion reminded him of Brunt. "You don't."

"That's because I've worked with him for over twenty years," Hanok replies, barely concealing his contempt.

The thought makes Quark shudder. "That's longer than I've worked anywhere."

"Really?" Hanok sounds contemplative. "If you don't mind my asking, how long has it been since you began working?"

Quark pauses to calculate from his Age of Ascension. "Almost twenty years."

"But not actually twenty." Hanok fixates on this point. Quark can't understand why that would bother him.

"So I'm a little younger than you." Quark grins. "I've always liked older men, anyway."

(Or Changelings who insisted on acting like older men, at least.)

There's a thoughtful pause.

"Quark," Hanok says eventually, "I'm not just a little older than you."

Somehow Quark senses that it would be a total mood-killer to discuss specific ages any further. He shrugs it off. "Age is just a number, really, when both parties are mature adults."

"And if one party is a significantly... _older_ mature adult?"

"Hanok, please." Quark raises a browridge. "Your hair hasn't even gone grey. That Rion guy's older than you, right? What is he, fifty?"

The corner of Hanok's mouth twitches into a bemused smile. "More like a hundred and fifty, I'm afraid. And not terribly mature for a Karemma, either."

Quark blinks. "Oh. Is that, uh, middle-aged?"

There's a quietly amused sound, like Hanok's stifled a laugh before it could escape his throat. "In a manner of speaking. A younger Karemma might certainly think so."

"Like yourself?"

Hanok does laugh at that. "Yes, I suppose. I personally happen to look forward to reaching my first century, but plenty of my peers are less enthusiastic about the prospect."

"See?" Quark grins. "We're both under a hundred."

"Well -"

But before Hanok can speak any further, the waiter returns with their orders.

"Gentlemen, your ice eels. No brine," the waiter says as he sets down Hanok's plate. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he sets down Quark's plate. "And extra brine for you, sir. Enjoy."

As the waiter departs, Quark looks down at his plate.

The ice eels are presented in a spiral of thin, delicately sliced discs, elegantly arranged and drizzled with painterly strokes of sauce. Each piece of eel glistens with extra brine. It all looks quite gorgeous and expensive.

"Looks delicious," Quark comments, glancing back up at Hanok. "Are they really your favorite?"

"Yes." Hanok sounds surprised that Quark remembered. "They're somewhat of an acquired taste, so don't feel obligated to finish them if you don't like them. I can always call the waiter back if you want to order something else."

"I'm sure they'll be fine." A thought occurs to Quark. He smiles. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

There's a clatter of metal against ceramic as Hanok fumbles his utensil, dropping it onto the plate. He coughs, embarrassed, as he picks it back up. "Pardon?"

"Dinner, Hanok." Quark makes sure they're looking into each other's eyes, then bites his lip, briefly, just enough for his teeth to bring a flush to the surface of his skin. He watches Hanok's gaze flick down to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. "You and me? Tonight?"

"You... _do_ want to get dinner?"

"Uh-huh." Quark keeps his voice sweet and sultry, thinking about the older businessmen he encountered when he first started working, and how they loved explaining themselves to such a pretty young thing. He wonders if it might have any effect. Can't hurt to try.

"With me?" Hanok asks dumbly, like he can't believe what he's hearing, despite the noise-modulation technology surrounding their booth, or how deeply Quark's looking into his eyes, or the simple fact that Quark literally just asked him about dinner.

Quark nods. "Yep."

As Hanok stares at him in disbelief, Quark drops his gaze down to the beautifully arranged discs of ice eel slices. Pity they weren't whole - he would have loved to repeat yesterday's performance. But he could still work with it.

In the ensuing silence, Quark neatly picks up a disc of eel with the pointed ends of his eating utensil, then gives the eel a dainty lick with the tip of his tongue, tasting the faint, juicy sheen.

He hears Hanok inhale sharply at the sight, but pretends not to notice as the laps at the salty marinade.

"Mmm." Quark's not exaggerating as he hums in pleasure. The ice eel is genuinely delicious.

He looks back at Hanok as he mouths the slice, almost kissing it before letting it slip past his lips. The eel almost dissolves on his tongue in a burst of crisp, tangy flavor. Quark continues gazing into Hanok's eyes as he swallows, hoping to convey a little eyefucking of his own. _As in, fuck me, please?_

"It's good," Quark says after he's done swallowing, and smiles as Hanok blinks rapidly for a moment, as if jostled out of a trance.

"Glad to hear it," Hanok murmurs. His voice sounds parched, like his mouth has suddenly gone dry. Sure enough, he soon breaks off eye contact to look for his glass of water. Finding it, he takes a long, thorough drink, then sets the glass back down.

Quark waits for Hanok to meet his eyes again, then slowly and deliberately licks the extra brine off his lips.

Another sharp inhale.

Quark wonders if it's related to how Hanok's coat didn't smell like anything, and whether Hanok might be sensitive to scents.

(Unlike Odo, never sensitive to anything Quark could provide.)

He waits for Hanok to say something, anything.

Instead, Hanok averts his eyes.

Picks up his utensil.

And proceeds to eat his lunch.

Baffled, Quark stares at him, wondering where he went wrong.

"Your food's getting warm," Hanok mentions. "If you don't hurry up, the eels are going to melt away."

Confused, Quark picks up his own utensil and starts eating.

* * *

The ice eels remain incredibly delicious.

Quark hates that. It'd be a lot easier to complain about lunch if he actually had something valid to complain about.

And he desperately wants to complain.

But every time he tries to speak up, Hanok distracts him with business, with some intriguing statistic or outperformance metric or annualized benchmark figure, and he's been so starved for genuinely stimulating financial discussion that he can't help wanting to do a deep dive, even as he wishes Hanok's cock would do a deep dive into him.

Quark still can't figure out Hanok's game.

There had to be a game, right?

After all that territorial behavior, all those jealous microtones - there's far too much evidence of _something_, whether it's just lust or maybe a perverted fetish or even just -

_(genuine affection and concern)_

\- a feeling that couldn't even be easily identified, because Quark's used to people feeling mixed feelings about him, and turning those feelings into a game of sorts, a test of willpower and self-control, before they gave in to the temptation to fuck him over and take advantage of his submissive tendencies, his easily-grasped wrists, his sensitive lobes, his welcoming... hospitality.

But Hanok keeps... _evading_ when Quark expects him to confront.

* * *

Hanok pays for lunch.

Hanok pays with barely a glance at the bill, except to note its amount before pressing his thumb into the imprint sensor. There's a list of surcharges that Quark can't read from across the table, none of which seem to perturb Hanok in the slightest before paying them.

It's a casual, nonchalant display of wealth that has Quark blushing like a Ferengi novice, even though it's just one of the many things Hanok has paid for him during his visit.

He watches Hanok hand the billing padd back to the waiter and thinks about Hanok paying for a holosuite reservation, and paying for Quark to join him in the holosuite, strips of gold-pressed latinum clicking together as Hanok pays to remove one item of clothing at a time, even though Quark wouldn't mind stripping for him regardless -

"Ready?" Hanok asks, dispelling Quark's fantasies once again, without even the courtesy of fueling them any further. A husky rasp would be nice, or another eyefucking sort of gaze.

Quark nods, trying to remember what's next on the itinerary as they get up from the table.

Another meeting, back at the department of finance, just the two of them again.

Suddenly he perks up.

Though he can't articulate why, not even to himself, Quark's intuition senses an opportunity.

* * *

In Hanok's government-issued hovercraft, with their dark woolen coats hanging neatly off to the side, Quark can't decide what to do next.

Words hadn't been enough. Flirting hadn't been enough.

Trying to make Hanok jealous sort of worked, but ultimately still wasn't enough.

It's gradually become apparent to Quark that he can't rely on Hanok to initiate anything.

He leans back and watches Hanok dutifully monitor the hovercraft controls, even with the course directions laid in place.

No, if he wanted anything to happen, he would have to do something about it.

But what?

Quark contemplates the possibilities.

Throw himself at Hanok, obviously, but how?

Climb into his lap?

Beg to get railed in the back of the hovercraft?

Kiss him?

A fierce blush heats up his cheeks.

That's strange. Mere kissing never brought up that kind of reaction from him.

Maybe the ice eels didn't cooperate well with his Ferengi physiology? He did hate the wine from last night, after all.

Idly, Quark imagines Hanok plying him with the wine he hates, coaxing him to take another sip, just one more swallow, then kissing him quiet, licking the remnants of that awful wine off of his lips.

The blush grows.

Something else grows as well.

Blinking, Quark crosses his legs, squirming uncomfortably.

He can feel himself growing slick down below, hear the faintest sounds of lewdness gathering between his folds.

It would be convenient if the ice eels ended up being an aphrodisiac, wouldn't it?

Right on cue, Hanok takes a deep, languorous inhale.

His eyes close for a moment.

Quark holds his breath.

"Quark?"

"Yeah?" Quark says, almost in a whisper. The air feels charged with a familiar tension.

"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of Rion at the moment, would you?"

The hint of danger in Hanok's voice almost makes Quark swoon. "No."

"Good," Hanok replies. He opens his eyes and turns to Quark with a half-lidded gaze. "Because you smell irresistible, and I would much rather you weren't thinking of anyone else right now."

Quark grins. "Just you."

That does the trick.

Hanok rises from the pilot seat and walks over to him with a purposeful stride.

Quark gazes up expectantly, his grin growing stupider by the second as Hanok's face draws nearer. He closes his eyes in anticipation of a bruising kiss.

Instead, Hanok dips down to the underside of his jaw and breathes in deeply, nose nuzzling Quark's sensitive neck.

"Ah!" Quark gasps, head lolling back against the back of the passenger seat as Hanok mouths his throat, tasting and smelling him all at once, like he can't decide what to do with him first. He reaches up to caress the back of Hanok's head and Hanok grasps his wrist, provoking a surprised moan. Arousal flares through his belly as he focuses on the strength of Hanok's fingers around his wrist, and the assertiveness of the lips at his neck, and the roughness of the tongue lavishing him in attention.

It's been so long since anyone's necked him, or smelled him like he was a rare treat, or trapped him in a chair.

(Even though he's longed, even hoped, despite all his complaints to the contrary, that Odo might turn out to be one of the chairs he sits upon, materializing underneath his thighs with a stern, forceful admonition.)

His hips can't help thrusting upwards - he's so touch-starved and desperate for contact.

With a growl Quark can't quite decipher - horny? irritated? both? - Hanok manhandles him out of his seat and exchanges their positions. Quark ends up sprawled against Hanok's chest and straddling Hanok's lap, and Hanok ends up holding him close, releasing his wrist to slide a hand down his back and underneath his jacket's flowing coattails, cupping his ass in a firm grab. He whimpers when Hanok's other hand cups the other half of his ass and both hands begin to knead his soft flesh, until Quark's squirming in Hanok's lap, his own cock pressed in between their stomachs, straining underneath his layers and layers of clothing.

After a very pleasant few moments of urgent, haphazard necking and fondling, Hanok breaks away from lavishing attention onto Quark's throat, and Quark whines in protest.

Contrite, Hanok ducks back to kiss him firmly on the mouth, and Quark sighs, appeased for the moment.

"Quark."

Hanok's lips brush against his as he speaks, and Quark smiles into his mouth, dizzy with sensation.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to know -"

Quark interrupts him with another kiss. "Mm-hmm?" 

"I'm interested in you as a person."

"Uh-huh." Quark wriggles in Hanok's lap and gives him another teasing kiss. "And not - mm - just because - ah - I'm an offworlder person?"

"No," Hanok says very seriously. His baritone rumbles through Quark's sternum with a pleasant vibration.

"Or a Ferengi person," Quark adds, dimly recalling the other minister's words at the restaurant. Rian, was it? "A very exotic Ferengi person?"

"No." Hanok shakes his head, nuzzles Quark's nose in the process. "No, it's because you're - hm." He interrupts himself with another kiss that tilts Quark's head back. "You."

"I'm what?" Quark giggles into Hanok's mouth, then sighs as Hanok briefly sucks at his lower lip before letting it go. "Mm."

"_You_." Hanok slides his hand up Quark's back, until he's caressing the back of Quark's head.

He sounds very serious.

Perhaps Quark should take him at face value.

So he does.

"Okay," Quark says happily, before diving back in for another indulgent kiss.

And if the thought crossed his mind that Odo would never admit to liking him so openly, or cave in to basic physical desire, or be so eager to be so close, he blissfully shoves such thoughts aside.

So what if Hanok reminded him of someone else?

Hanok was here, and Hanok wanted him, and he wanted Hanok back. It was as simple as that.


	4. Chapter 4

It hurts, at first.

Quark buries his face into Hanok's hair. The fine strands tickle his cheeks as he muffles his noises. 

He squirms in Hanok's lap, feeling utterly naked despite keeping his shirt on, maybe even more naked because of it. He tightens his bare thighs around Hanok's waist, feeling immensely vulnerable and fuckable, and Hanok groans into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 

(If only it were the fingers. Quark liked Hanok's fingers, the size of them, the way Hanok explored him with a gentle, trembling enthusiasm. The way Hanok's breathing grew ragged and harsh as he stroked Quark from the inside, curling his fingers just enough to press against Quark's most heated, intimate place. The soft and wet sound of Hanok pulling his hand away, knuckles dripping with Quark's natural slickness. How Hanok quietly lapped at the wetness on his hand, tasting Quark's arousal.)

He tries to relax, tries to adjust to the maddening feel of Hanok stretching him open without getting far enough to make it feel _good_ yet, but Hanok's too large for it to be easy, and Hanok's too eager to fuck him to go slower, and Hanok's _so_ earnest and sweet that Quark can't bear to correct him, so he just clings onto Hanok even harder as Hanok pushes inside him, hips rocking and grinding into Quark's tender, tight opening. Too large for Quark to ride, to show off his talents in full. All he can do is hold on and try not to sound too pathetic.

The shuttlecraft hums softly in the background. The seat creaks gently underneath their combined weight, not meant for bearing such a load. It's as elegant and minimalistic as the rest of the shuttlecraft, and very expensive-feeling, and Quark gets an illicit thrill out of being fucked in it, bottom half utterly exposed, surrounded by sensors and detectors. 

Quark presses a kiss into Hanok's hair, inhaling the scent of him, trying to place it, compare. 

(Odo reminds him of the moments after it stops raining. Hanok doesn't remind him of anything, yet.)

He strokes the back of Hanok's head, almost petting it as he tries to work his hips down even further.

Hanok's fingers dig into his ass, clutching him even more tightly. 

"Quark," Hanok groans, so deliciously deep that Quark can't help shuddering at the sound of his name. "You're so -"

Suddenly Hanok cuts himself off, thrusting into Quark with a sudden, hard movement. 

_"Ah!"_

Quark trembles and tries to lift himself off Hanok's cock for a moment, but Hanok growls and thrusts hard into him again, making Quark whimper at the force. 

"Hanok," Quark pleads, feeling Hanok withdraw just enough to thrust back inside him. "_Ah_ \- ah - _AH -_ Hanok, I -!"

He clenches tightly around Hanok's cock that time, shivering at how hard Hanok hit his sweet spot.

There's a breathy laugh, knowing and maybe a little smug, then Hanok almost purrs his query into Quark's ear: "Yes, Quark?"

"D-don't -" Quark swallows hard, throat suddenly very dry at how perversely satisfied Hanok sounds, so close to his delicate lobes. "Don't stop," he says weakly, trying to roll his hips back down, wishing Hanok were just a _little_ smaller, a little different -

"With pleasure," Hanok rasps, voice so low that Quark wants to swoon at the sound of it.

He soon lives up to his word, bouncing Quark up and down in his lap with each thrust, until he's slamming into Quark so hard that Quark can barely gasp out a hasty warning before he comes all over Hanok's lap. 

Chuckling, Hanok kisses him quiet, muffling Quark's desperate moans as he fucks him through the aftershocks, and all Quark can do is hold on until Hanok finishes with a filthy groan into his mouth. 

Heart pounding, Quark breaks off the kiss, gasps for air. He collapses against Hanok's chest, breathing hard. 

Hanok takes a deep, languid breath. The exhale almost sounds like a sigh. He sounds content, somehow. He leans in and mouths Quark's neck as he comes down, licking at his throat.

They remain in place for a while, quiet, chests heaving. 

Hanok's arms feel nice around him. Heavy. Comforting.

Quark can barely keep his eyes open. He snuggles against Hanok's chest, exhausted, hoping Hanok won't make him get up right away.

Hanok doesn't. He seems very comfortable letting Quark remain in his lap.

So Quark lets his eyes fall shut.

In mere moments, he's fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes up to Hanok murmuring his name.

"Quark." 

A gentle nuzzle along his jaw, a soft breath on his ear. 

"We've arrived." Hanok's voice sounds even deeper when relaxed.

Quark slowly blinks his eyes open.

They're still on the ship. He's sore and sticky - very sticky - and he's remembering why.

He lifts his head off Hanok's chest and sees Hanok smiling at him. 

Beaming, even.

Hanok reminds Quark of a happy drunk, someone who's had a few too many and is overly affectionate as a result. 

Quark likes the happy drunks. So much easier to deal with than the unhappy ones.

He smiles back at Hanok, then lets his eyes travel downwards to Hanok's clothes.

Open jacket over a simple black top, untucked, distractingly rumpled at the waist. Trousers pulled up and fastened, neatly. Almost presentable, were it not for the faint dampness glistening and drying in smears along the hem of the top, like Hanok's wiped his hand along the fabric, brushing the mess aside. 

Quark's eyes travel lower. He swallows.

Without the folds of the jacket covering up Hanok's waist, he can see, quite clearly, an impressive outline straining against the fabric.

And it reminds him -

Quark glances back down at himself. A hot blush flares through his cheeks.

He's completely nude below the waist, sitting half-naked in Hanok's very clothed lap like some kind of -

Quark stifles an embarrassed noise. It was better when they were both partially naked, on roughly equal terms. Novice mistake. He should have pulled his clothes back on right away, shouldn't have let himself - 

"Something wrong?" Hanok draws him close, arms looped lazily around his (naked, very naked) waist. 

"Just, um." Quark's eyes dart around the ship, scanning for his trousers (crumpled on the ground, near the chair), his boots (one near the chair, the other confusingly not), his undergarments (even more confusingly nowhere to be seen). "Looking for the rest of my clothes." 

Hanok chuckles in a distractingly deep tone. "Mm, yes. I suppose we ought to find them before leaving."

_So_ smug. Quark arches a browridge back at him. "Don't_ you_ sound pleased about it."

"Do I?" Hanok blinks innocently, but he can't hide the indulgence in his voice. 

"Mm-hmm." Quark grins, easing into the familiarity of discovering a new partner's preferences. "You _like_ me like this."

Hanok's mouth twitches in an effort to hide his smile. "Perhaps." He takes a quiet, deep inhale. "It's certainly more convenient."

Nothing to get in the way of smelling him directly. "That reminds me." Quark tilts his head. "I've been meaning to ask -"

And Hanok sits up straighter, eyes gleaming, eager. "Yes, Quark?" 

Almost too eager. It's cute. Quark can't help smiling. "Do all Karemma have a heightened sense of smell?"

"Heightened?" Hanok sounds puzzled. Also very cute. "Not to my knowledge, no."

"Maybe that's the wrong word." Quark purses his lips, concentrating. "Sensitive?" 

Hanok shakes his head gently, amused. "I've never thought of it as such."

"Well, of course you wouldn't." Quark grins. "You just think it's normal. Like how Ferengi hearing's more sensitive than others, but it's just normal for us."

"Ah." Hanok's gaze drifts over to his lobes, lingering, like he's never truly noticed them before. "So Ferengi ears are particularly... sensitive?"

Quark drops his voice to a flirty register. "You could say that."

"Interesting," Hanok replies, voice dropping even lower. He tightens his arms around Quark's waist and Quark loops his arms around Hanok's neck as he's pulled closer.

Hanok's eyelids lower. His fingers are hot on Quark's hips as he leans down.

Quark hisses softly at the slow, gentle movement of lips against his skin. It feels good - feels electric, even, on his sensitive lobes. But it also makes his body throb, painfully. 

"What's wrong?" Hanok pulls away, concerned.

"I'm still, um. Sensitive." Quark nods downwards. "Down there. And if you kiss me up here -" (he gestures with a light flourish) "- things... hurt a little."

"Oh." Hanok's hand rubs Quark's hip. "I'm sorry."

Quark grins. "Sure you are."

Hanok frowns. "I am, truly."

"It's okay." Quark takes a moment to enjoy being held, relishing the warmth of Hanok's hand and the concern in Hanok's voice. It's quite nice.

His legs do feel cold, though.

"Hanok?"

The hand on his hip gives him a squeeze. "Yes, Quark?"

"I should find the rest of my clothes."

"Ah, that reminds me." Hanok turns to rummage in a jacket pocket, then pulls out a delicate slip of a garment, lightly dangling it from his fingers as he holds it out. "This belongs to you."

Quark's cheeks burn as he takes his underwear back.

"Thanks," he says, not sure why he can't stop blushing as he averts his eyes to look back at the silken garment in his fingers.

"Do you need any help?" Hanok asks, more to talk than to seriously inquire, an excuse to whisper lowly into Quark's ear.

Quark shivers at the stimulation, then winces at the ache that follows, pulsing inside of him. 

He makes a noncommittal noise, tries to remember what to do with his hands, his limbs - he'd have to leave Hanok's embrace, wouldn't he? 

But he can't. 

His Ferengi bonding hormones are going haywire in this prolonged post-coital haze, compelling him to linger as long as possible in Hanok's arms. 

It feels too good, being held by someone fond of him, someone he's just had sex with, someone whose arms wrap around him snugly and securely and remind him of everything he doesn't have.

Hanok's face hovers near him, staying close without touching, and it strangely feels more intimate than not, knowing Hanok's watching him intently as he lifts his feet up to slip his underwear back on, contorting himself to shimmy his hips back into the diaphanous, near-liquid fabric, feeling Hanok's amused chuckles gently vibrate along his back.

Briefly, his fantasies of being caught by Odo in disguise flash through his mind.

Furniture shifting underneath his thighs, catching him by surprise, fingers wrapping around his bare wrist -

"You smell wonderful," Hanok murmurs, tightening his embrace. "I should have savored you. Prolonged our first time."

"Don't worry about it," Quark murmurs right back, turning back to him, voice barely there, distracted. 

"Perhaps we could... readjust our schedule."

Quark grins. His eyes dart up, catching Hanok's gaze. "Thought we already did."

"Readjust further." Hanok huffs, quietly amused. "I can alter our course. To my home, for example."

At that, Quark can't help joking, "Can't wait to get me under house arrest, can you?"

Blank stare.

"It's an Alpha Quadrant expression," Quark adds quickly, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment, feeling stupid for thinking about Odo yet again. "Doesn't matter." He shifts himself closer to Hanok, pressing himself against Hanok's chest. "I'd love to visit your place."

"Then it's settled." Hanok's voice is brimming with contentment, with fondness, with everything Quark wants to hear - even if it's not from the person he wants to hear from the most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST! ANGST! ANGST!
> 
> :)


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